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		<title>IV</title>
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		<section id="chapter-4" epub:type="chapter">
			<h2>THE CAREW MURDER CASE</h2>
<p>
Nearly a year later, in the month of October, 18—, London was startled by
a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more notable by the high
position of the victim. The details were few and startling. A maid servant
living alone in a house not far from the river, had gone upstairs to bed about
eleven. Although a fog rolled over the city in the small hours, the early part
of the night was cloudless, and the lane, which the maid’s window
overlooked, was brilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically
given, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under the window,
and fell into a dream of musing. Never (she used to say, with streaming tears,
when she narrated that experience), never had she felt more at peace with all
men or thought more kindly of the world. And as she so sat she became aware of
an aged beautiful gentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and
advancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at first she
paid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was just under the
maid’s eyes) the older man bowed and accosted the other with a very
pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as if the subject of his address
were of great importance; indeed, from his pointing, it sometimes appeared as
if he were only inquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke,
and the girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an innocent and
old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something high too, as of a
well-founded self-content. Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was
surprised to recognise in him a certain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her
master and for whom she had conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy
cane, with which he was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to
listen with an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke out
in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing the cane, and
carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman. The old gentleman took a
step back, with the air of one very much surprised and a trifle hurt; and at
that Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next
moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing
down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the
body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and sounds, the
maid fainted.
</p>
<p>
It was two o’clock when she came to herself and called for the police.
The murderer was gone long ago; but there lay his victim in the middle of the
lane, incredibly mangled. The stick with which the deed had been done, although
it was of some rare and very tough and heavy wood, had broken in the middle
under the stress of this insensate cruelty; and one splintered half had rolled
in the neighbouring gutter—the other, without doubt, had been carried
away by the murderer. A purse and gold watch were found upon the victim: but no
cards or papers, except a sealed and stamped envelope, which he had been
probably carrying to the post, and which bore the name and address of Mr.
Utterson.
</p>
<p>
This was brought to the lawyer the next morning, before he was out of bed; and
he had no sooner seen it and been told the circumstances, than he shot out a
solemn lip. “I shall say nothing till I have seen the body,” said
he; “this may be very serious. Have the kindness to wait while I
dress.” And with the same grave countenance he hurried through his
breakfast and drove to the police station, whither the body had been carried.
As soon as he came into the cell, he nodded.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” said he, “I recognise him. I am sorry to say that this
is Sir Danvers Carew.”
</p>
<p>
“Good God, sir,” exclaimed the officer, “is it
possible?” And the next moment his eye lighted up with professional
ambition. “This will make a deal of noise,” he said. “And
perhaps you can help us to the man.” And he briefly narrated what the
maid had seen, and showed the broken stick.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Utterson had already quailed at the name of Hyde; but when the stick was
laid before him, he could doubt no longer; broken and battered as it was, he
recognised it for one that he had himself presented many years before to Henry
Jekyll.
</p>
<p>
“Is this Mr. Hyde a person of small stature?” he inquired.
</p>
<p>
“Particularly small and particularly wicked-looking, is what the maid
calls him,” said the officer.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Utterson reflected; and then, raising his head, “If you will come
with me in my cab,” he said, “I think I can take you to his
house.”
</p>
<p>
It was by this time about nine in the morning, and the first fog of the season.
A great chocolate-coloured pall lowered over heaven, but the wind was
continually charging and routing these embattled vapours; so that as the cab
crawled from street to street, Mr. Utterson beheld a marvelous number of
degrees and hues of twilight; for here it would be dark like the back-end of
evening; and there would be a glow of a rich, lurid brown, like the light of
some strange conflagration; and here, for a moment, the fog would be quite
broken up, and a haggard shaft of daylight would glance in between the swirling
wreaths. The dismal quarter of Soho seen under these changing glimpses, with
its muddy ways, and slatternly passengers, and its lamps, which had never been
extinguished or had been kindled afresh to combat this mournful reinvasion of
darkness, seemed, in the lawyer’s eyes, like a district of some city in a
nightmare. The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye; and
when he glanced at the companion of his drive, he was conscious of some touch
of that terror of the law and the law’s officers, which may at times
assail the most honest.
</p>
<p>
As the cab drew up before the address indicated, the fog lifted a little and
showed him a dingy street, a gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for
the retail of penny numbers and twopenny salads, many ragged children huddled
in the doorways, and many women of many different nationalities passing out,
key in hand, to have a morning glass; and the next moment the fog settled down
again upon that part, as brown as umber, and cut him off from his blackguardly
surroundings. This was the home of Henry Jekyll’s favourite; of a man who
was heir to a quarter of a million sterling.
</p>
<p>
An ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman opened the door. She had an evil
face, smoothed by hypocrisy: but her manners were excellent. Yes, she said,
this was Mr. Hyde’s, but he was not at home; he had been in that night
very late, but he had gone away again in less than an hour; there was nothing
strange in that; his habits were very irregular, and he was often absent; for
instance, it was nearly two months since she had seen him till yesterday.
</p>
<p>
“Very well, then, we wish to see his rooms,” said the lawyer; and
when the woman began to declare it was impossible, “I had better tell you
who this person is,” he added. “This is Inspector Newcomen of
Scotland Yard.”
</p>
<p>
A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman’s face. “Ah!”
said she, “he is in trouble! What has he done?”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances. “He don’t seem a
very popular character,” observed the latter. “And now, my good
woman, just let me and this gentleman have a look about us.”
</p>
<p>
In the whole extent of the house, which but for the old woman remained
otherwise empty, Mr. Hyde had only used a couple of rooms; but these were
furnished with luxury and good taste. A closet was filled with wine; the plate
was of silver, the napery elegant; a good picture hung upon the walls, a gift
(as Utterson supposed) from Henry Jekyll, who was much of a connoisseur; and
the carpets were of many plies and agreeable in colour. At this moment,
however, the rooms bore every mark of having been recently and hurriedly
ransacked; clothes lay about the floor, with their pockets inside out;
lock-fast drawers stood open; and on the hearth there lay a pile of grey ashes,
as though many papers had been burned. From these embers the inspector
disinterred the butt end of a green cheque book, which had resisted the action
of the fire; the other half of the stick was found behind the door; and as this
clinched his suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted. A visit to the
bank, where several thousand pounds were found to be lying to the
murderer’s credit, completed his gratification.
</p>
<p>
“You may depend upon it, sir,” he told Mr. Utterson: “I have
him in my hand. He must have lost his head, or he never would have left the
stick or, above all, burned the cheque book. Why, money’s life to the
man. We have nothing to do but wait for him at the bank, and get out the
handbills.”
</p>
<p>
This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment; for Mr. Hyde had
numbered few familiars—even the master of the servant maid had only seen
him twice; his family could nowhere be traced; he had never been photographed;
and the few who could describe him differed widely, as common observers will.
Only on one point were they agreed; and that was the haunting sense of
unexpressed deformity with which the fugitive impressed his beholders.
</p>
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